Criminal Trade
by TeaLogic
Summary: Empty House  EMPT  AU. Play the game, make the trade and defy the world, but you must keep it a secret. That is all Watson has to do if he wants Holmes back.


_Play the game, make the trade and defy the world, but you must keep it a secret. That is all Watson has to do if he wants Holmes back._

**Summary: **An AU version of 'The Empty House'. When Watson learns that Holmes is alive, it's not necessarily a good thing.

**Warnings**: Hurt/Comfort, injury, mild swearing.

**A/N**: I remember when I first read the 'The Final Problem' a very long time ago (it scares me how long ago it was) and I got all excited upon learning that Moriarty had a brother. This has been sleeping on my hard drive for an age, but I've decided to post :D As always, if you see any mistakes, please let me know!

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes and associated characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The short poem split across all chapters, '_Words of Deeds' _is mine.

Moriarty:

_Patience is really Hindrance, and Hindrance curls and dies._

He carefully drops another teaspoon of sugar into the cup and stirs lightly, his gaze carefully sweeping the room. Several useless things are noticed and discarded in a matter of seconds. There are people here living ordinary lives, having lunch with friends and family in the usual setting of a high end hotel in the heart of London where parliament is around the corner. The light and airy dining hall is much more crowded than usual, with it being almost full. It is most likely due to the monstrous rain outside that batters the windows like some desperate stranger wishing to be involved with the joyous conversation within.

He takes a sip of the fragrant tea and then from his pocket retrieves his watch to check the time. He is incredibly early and there is at least another twenty minutes before his guest should be appearing. He relaxes back in his seat, looking over the short letter that he has on the table next to the teapot in front of him. It holds a tidy cursive with careful loops and clear letters that come together to convey a short, terse reply. The handwriting is unusual for a doctor and a few choice sentences highlighted in red ink provide the notion that the content is rather rude:

'_I do not comprehend the fact that you have the unyielding nerve to post such an article written by yourself. I wish to make it clear that I do not have any intention of meeting you to discuss such content, however, considering the position you have placed me in, you leave me with no choice.'_

He's read it several times and concludes that Doctor Watson is a much more of a clever man than he clearly gives himself credit for. All it took was a carefully composed article, using the plentiful information gathered on Doctor John Watson and his history, to be presented to the press in order to ruffle the good doctor's tail feathers. Next to the letter on the table is a clipping of that article from _The Times_: _'Why the World Morns for Professor Moriarty'_.

It was a short analysis of his academic work, a few base lies on his character and downright slander of those who chased him. It had worked beautifully. False pretence or not, everyone knew of the close friendship Watson and Holmes shared, even outside the fairy tales and adventures and Watson would never allow any slight on his fellow companion's name, however unrelated to reality. Even more so should the slander come from the relative of the man John Watson likely hated the most within the whole of the Empire. This very man sat at the table, drinking tea and comparing words with the weight of a criminal empire resting on his shoulders.

Colonel James Moriarty looked nothing like his late older step brother and both of them were aware of it from a very early age. Being from the same father, they did share the high forehead and dark round eyes along with the sparkling intellect. But the colonel was a lot thinner than his brother, smaller and not to mention generally lacked the genetics that created that passion to indulge in callousness and criminal convictions. He had merely dabbled in crime here and there, but to be honest, crime was needed when it suited him. He simply did not have the close relationship with crime like his brother, who seemed half mad for it.

He was never close to him. James was more like an object to be admired for the simple and brilliant villainy through the testimonials of magazines and newspapers kept in a scrapbook. Nobody had ever asked, hence he had never revealed. However, a lengthy letter and a sum of money for the family vault arrived without fail year upon year. The colonel, with his ever growing enthusiasm for extensive luxury and fulfilling hobbies, was extremely grateful for such generosity and in return the colonel gave the reassurance in that should his step brother require it, a favour would be provided without hesitation. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for the youngest brother, George, who was some nobody working in a dingy station somewhere south. However, the colonel just simply couldn't check if all the members of the family were receiving the same generosity from the highest earner in the family.

Yet, he knew more than most that nothing lasts. Simply put, you cannot keep fighting the battle forever. Unless you retire. The word 'retire' was not always compatible with other terms such as 'forgery' and 'treachery' involved. The colonel had only been allowed to keep his title lest he split on other, more important officers who were involved with the debacle. Moran had enough anger and vengeance for him as it stood. To really reveal what had happened on that day in the Maiwand Pass and exploit the whole sorry affair would have sent Moran over the edge. Not to mention the majority of the British government.

But that was another problem. One that would possibly never rear its ugly head. This situation however had to be addressed. Even with James being the master of an unshakeable criminal empire and the possessor of an incredible brain, he could not escape The End. He would be caught eventually. With all its spoils and fruits, something had to give for breaking the norms and morals of society and leading such a twisted and scarred life. London had its white knight in the form of some bohemian detective and his army doctor friend who had forced James to meet his death seemingly at the end of the earth. That had been almost two years ago. James has finally lost the battle and the colonel had lost a brother he never really knew. Of course, what was much more significant was the fact that his dear brother had left _no last will and testament. _Henceforth shoving his younger half brother into the shadowy world of dark intent and wrongdoing, putting him face to face with one of the most unhinged men this good world had to offer.

What hell it had been.

What a situation. Sitting here in some hotel in the thick web of London, sipping tea in the dining room like he has not a care in the world when in reality, he's living on the edge of the most foggy and difficult life in existence. He is perhaps the only man in this richly furnished hall- scratch that- _in the whole of London_ who has the most unusual and in the eyes of some a most desperate problem. How many people in London have the worries of mass crime syndicates, of murder and of clever bargaining with forgotten criminals and doctors? The colonel must always remind himself of why _does _he bother exactly? This is not the only solution to the problem of how to sort out Sebastian Moran. He has plenty of contacts who could whisk him away to some foreign land and wait for Moran to slip up. There is no need for all this trouble, this absolute anarchy.

But then, he is reminded that there is. If only Sherlock Holmes hadn't have got himself caught.

Ah, Mr Holmes. Someone who the colonel believed was reliable and who could easily avoid getting within Moran's sticky grasp. The colonel knew exactly what had happened the moment his spy had reported that he had lost track of Mr Holmes in Montpellier three days ago. Moran had undoubtedly found him and if he was going to unleash his fury upon the detective, then the colonel did not have much time.

He wondered why Watson never joined Holmes after the deception was put in place at the falls. Surely, two heads were always better than one when trying to hide away from the world. But then, the doctor has been most impressive with his acting skills since the incident. He reminds himself of the touching obituary and the small ceremony that were both well publicised. The doctor has made a very good show of it all and importantly convinced Moran that the he had no part in any of it.

The colonel checks his watch again and gets his assistant Sheppard to order another fresh pot of tea. It's only five minutes before the doctor is due to arrive and the colonel is not entirely sure how he will conduct himself. His best hope is that the doctor is aware of the recent developments and will likely have a plan that could be put into action immediately. There is absolutely no chance of being overheard here; the colonel has made sure of it. Everything is at both of their disposals. Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on his watch and to hear its soothing ticking over the noise of chatter, he cannot help but imagine what could be presently going on at the villa in France. It doesn't take a consulting detective to say that Moran is possessed with such rage and jealously and even though Sherlock Holmes may not have any tales to tell, he certainly may be persuaded to make up a few.

He closes his eyes.

Oh, this is ugly, ugly, ugly.

Deciding that the half brother of the most dangerous man in London is absolutely the next best man for the job of being the head of a mass crime syndicate... is ridiculous. He's a colonel for god's sake! A man of war! –Fine, an ex-man of war. But still, he _was _a_ colonel_. He demands respect, order and for everything to go his way. He can't have this little rat of a sniper who he would have crushed in the old days threaten his wellbeing. Such an intense way of thinking tires him and he takes a sip of cold tea. This is why he is staying well out of it; he will have somebody else do it for him. That's how he did it in the old days. He's a tired and disappointed old man. He is no longer interesting in taking part when it comes to the chase. He only wants the finer points of life and favours at Whitehall when he needs them.

He looks up at the large, fancy ornamental clock that hangs on the wall opposite, it is exactly three in the afternoon and he sees the man he's after.

He thinks that doctor John Watson is a strange man. Then again, the colonel muses that any acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes must not be your ordinary London gent. He's done the background check and approves. Meeting another army man puts them on a level footing conversation wise and he's sure the doctor will recognise him from the Afghan days. So long as they avoid Maiwand. He can't help but remember reading that the doctor was seriously injured. A casualty of war? Or a casualty of-

"Colonel James Moriarty?"

Originally he is rather surprised and a little disappointed by the sight of him. Well dressed and handsome features of the face. But the pale skin and sunken eyes bring his whole appearance down several notches alongside the obvious but unbelievable fact that the once strongly built man is clearly wasting away. His eyes are a distinct shade of hazel, but Moriarty notices a misty dullness and the man blinks rarely. If the colonel didn't know any better, the whole scene could simply be depicted as grief in motion, or lucid sleepwalking. However, the colonel knows that he's an incredibly good actor. He must be. Otherwise Moran would have certainly figured everything out by now.

The doctor doesn't shake his hand nor offer kind words of greeting, but rather sits opposite him with an ugly scowl across his face. His face bores into Moriarty, imploring him to start.

"Thank you for replying to my letter so quickly"

"As if I had any other choice but to" The doctor is a little too quick to reply and he still retains that stony look. He doesn't touch the tea, newly placed on the table. Nor does he recline into the chair like others around him. He's as rigid as the dead.

The colonel smiles politely in return and fidgets, lacing and unlacing his sweaty fingers. This man has an incredible stare that unnerves him, even more than the stares of the terrifying higher-ups at Whitehall. He can't help but sweep the room with his eyes, something that Watson notices and frowns at.

"I was wondering if you would remember me" He casts a side-long glance at him, before motioning to Sheppard to check the hall again.

The frown intensifies on a tired looking face and Watson makes no inclination of a comment. He simply stares at the colonel as if he couldn't look at anybody else. Those eyes are cold and adamant and looking straight back at them the colonel feels the first few waves of agitation. Now the doctor is just being rude, surely. It's got nothing to do with being a good actor or not!

"Doctor, if we can tone down the hostilities here we may be able to start with why I actually called you out in the first place-"

"I am aware of why you called me out here" Watson's eyes cast downward to the article on the table and then back at him, still carrying that hostile stare. Who on earth was it that reported to the colonel that the doctor was a mild mannered man?

Well, to hell with it. He'll play along.

"The article?" He asks innocently, pouring the doctor a cup of tea since the wretched man refuses to do it himself.

"I want it make it very clear to you now, I will do absolutely everything in my power to prevent it from being published"

"I-I don't understand doctor"

"What is there to understand? All you have written is false and exaggerated"

"Well, yes."

"Well then, there is no need for this meeting to continue."

"Watson-"

"I'd prefer 'Doctor' Watson"

"Well, Doctor Watson, I wouldn't go anywhere just yet"

"Why? We've said all we've needed to say about the blasted article"

"Well, actually, I wish it were the case."

There, the games are over now. He makes use of the silence. He picks up the article and appraises it himself as if it were the first time he's seen it. Well, in reality, it is. He never wrote himself of course. He carefully watches the doctor before saying his next piece.

"I wrote the piece to garner your attention, Doctor Watson and for us to be allowed to meet without the cause being suspicious."

There's a small exclaim of surprise within Watson's throat.

"Excuse me?"

The colonel visibly flinches and now really doesn't understand what is going here. What on earth is this man doing? There really is no time for this!

"As I said or rather _you _rightfully said to me in that terse reply of yours, the article has no purpose. I have no intention of sending it to publication. But I had to meet you."

"Why not just ask me?"

Now the colonel smiles properly for the first time. He is very impressed by this man, by his whole demeanour and his employment of humour juxtaposed by that wonderful directness. In another world, another time, they could have been perfect companions. He playfully lightens his tone.

"Doctor, let's not play games anymore."

The colonel can feel an excitement bubbling over inside him that colours his cheeks. Honestly, why would anyone fret over this? The doctor is here and everything is about to be solved. Moran will not have a leg to stand on after this is over.

"I've had this building checked over and over in the past hour. Quite simply, we cannot be overheard here, and to prying eyes we have an acceptable, legit reason for meeting-"

The Doctor cuts through the rambling.

"I'm afraid I misunderstand you."

"I'm sure you can-"

This time, Watson holds up a stern hand "No, no. We are at two very separate conversations here, Mr Moriarty."

He is a little taken back, but decides to press on. It wouldn't be like a friend of Holmes to try and humour another supposed enemy, despite the situation.

"Two separate conversations?"

"To be plain, I have absolutely no idea what you are saying"

"I don't mean to be full of double meaning, but surely you've figured out why we need to meet?"

Watson leans forward. "If the article is not the reason why you wanted to see me," suddenly, his voice drops, low, predator-like "then _what do you have to tell me?"_

Now the colonel feels as if he's suffered a blow to the head. Something is wrong. Horribly wrong. Watson looks far too agitated, too angry. Maybe he knows more about the new situation than he does? More horrible scenarios, explanations, theories, race through the colonel's over-taxed brain. Watson is still leaning forward and the colonel cannot break his stare. The beginning of his sentence comes out in a stammer-

"S-Sherlock Holmes has been caught, Doctor. I would rather prefer it if you would fetch him for me"


End file.
